The Anatomy of Intimacy
by Stariceling
Summary: When Sock convinces Jonathan to poke at the wound in his chest, it leaves both of them more vulnerable than they expected and having to look after each other.


I set out to write kink negotiation with Jonathan playing with Sock's spooky hole and ended up with talk of injury and suicide. Either way, I really like how this has turned out. I keep toying with writing more but I'm pretty happy with it as it is now.

* * *

"I bet if you hang yourself you get to keep the rope."

"Why would I even want that?"

"I could hang on to it like a leash! Then I'd never lose you."

"Yeah, not tempted. At all."

"It'll be fun," Sock coaxed. "I'll take you for walks and everything."

He was perched on Jonathan's desk, idly swinging his legs. Jonathan leaned back in his desk chair, making no attempt to get Sock out of the way so he could start his homework. Actually, it had been a few days since Jonathan had pushed him out of the way or yelled at him. Sock liked this change, but when he thought about it he wondered if not annoying Jonathan meant he wasn't working hard enough at his job.

He had spent the whole school day trying to make Jonathan laugh. Which might not be particularly demonic, but is was fun. Sock liked it when Jonathan huffed or snorted and tried to pretend he wasn't amused, and even more when he threw his head back and really laughed. Plus when he burst out laughing at nothing his classmates would make fun of him for being 'crazy.' It was like they hated fun or something.

Even if he was enjoying himself they were having The Talk right now, trying once again to convince Jonathan to kill himself and become a demon, so Sock reassured himself that he was not slacking at his job. He was just trying to think of another suicide method he could spin in a positive light. There were lots of ways to die that had to be less painful than just stabbing yourself.

"You really killed yourself?"

"Yeah." Sock perked up, because Jonathan was actually showing an interest. "And being a demon is great! I've never felt better!" Once he'd said it, he realized there was a bit of truth in the endorsement. Okay, actually dying had really hurt, but that went away. Sure, he missed a lot of things about being alive. Plus it could get kind of lonely only having Jonathan who could see or hear him unless he wanted to hang around in Hell. But in spite of everything, Sock was enjoying his afterlife.

"Why would you want to do something like that?"

"Oh. I guess. . . I felt like my life was basically over," Sock rubbed the back of his neck, looking around at the band posters decorating the walls so he wouldn't have to look at Jonathan's expression. "There was nothing left to do but clean up and just, y'know, stab myself."

"You stabbed yourself." Jonathan's deadpan tone meant it was safe to glance at him again, at the familiar frown dragging his face down.

"Yeah." Sock pulled up his shirt to show off the hole left in his stomach, grinning proudly as Jonathan's frown deepened and he leaned so far back he almost overbalanced.

"That has got to be the worst idea ever."

"Hey, it worked! But we can think of something else for you to try." It had really hurt, and he had laid in his own grave for way too long waiting to bleed out. Sock wasn't sure he wanted that for Jonathan. They had time to think about other options, and Jonathan was worth the trouble. He could figure out something faster and kinder for Jonathan, even if it would be great to have a fun flesh wound to play with after he became a demon.

Jonathan was still staring at the gory hole cut right into his middle. Sock grinned at the attention. If Jonathan wanted to keep looking, maybe that meant he was interested too.

"So, you're not eating now," Sock pointed out, remembering the excuses Jonathan had made before. "Wanna stick something in it?"

"Maybe?"

"Do it. It's all fresh and bloody and everything," Sock tempted.

"Do you really want me to?"

"Yeah, sure," Sock answered without thinking. He had only thought that if their positions were reversed he would have wanted to poke at any supernatural wounds Jonathan had, so of course he should offer and try to entice Jonathan.

The thought of Jonathan actually poking around with his insides sent an unexpected shiver of excitement through him. He met Jonathan's gaze and bit his lip. Was he just going to sit there and watch Sock squirm?

"I want you to do it," Sock admitted. Not like he had anything invested in pretending otherwise.

"Okay, I guess. . ."

Jonathan let his chair fall down to rest on all four legs and reached out, gaze dropping from Sock's face to fix on the hole in his chest. Sock held his breath in anticipation, but Jonathan just rested his left hand on his side, thumb teasingly close to brushing the edge of torn skin. Jonathan's palm was warm and solid, and Sock caught himself leaning into it.

For a moment Jonathan hesitated, right hand raised between them, while he glanced up at Sock and down again. Rather than using his hand, he grabbed a pencil, and went to poke that into the wound.

"Not that!" Sock protested. He hadn't realized he had a preference until just that moment, but after thinking he was going to get Jonathan's hand, it seemed like a dirty thing to put in his gut.

"I could use a pen." Jonathan dropped the offending pencil and fumbled at the cup of pens on his desk for a new poking implement.

Sock wrinkled his nose in disgust. "That's just as bad."

"I wouldn't put the tip in." Jonathan pointed the blunt end of the pen at Sock to illustrate, but didn't push the issue. "Fine, then what did you want me to put in there?"

"A knife." That felt like the most natural thing to use. "Or. . . you should steal one of the scalpels from the biology room at school!" They were probably as dull and rusty as the ones he remembered from his school's dissection lab, but it would be more delicate than the knife, give Jonathan more control, and the idea made him squirm in happy anticipation.

"I am not sticking a knife in you."

"Anything metal would be okay, I think." Sock didn't think he would mind even if Jonathan wanted to use a fork or spoon on him.

The warm press of Jonathan's palm on his stomach with each excited breath made him think of another option. Metal was cold and clean and unyielding inside flesh, which he knew a little too well from experience. But Jonathan's hands were warm, almost comforting. He had definitely liked the idea when he thought Jonathan was going for it before. If it was Jonathan, he was okay letting him feel around with his bare hands.

"Unless you want to use your hands," Sock purred, lowering his eyelids and giving Jonathan the best sultry gaze he could manage.

"I did until you said it like that," Jonathan muttered, but he wiped his right hand on his hoodie and touched his fingers to the lower edge of Sock's wound.

Sock held his breath, but all Jonathan did was poke his index finger inside until it touched raw flesh and then snatch it back out again. He glanced up at Sock's face.

"Okay?"

"You can do more than that."

"No, I meant. . . never mind."

Jonathan looked back down and touched the edge of Sock's wound again, but this time he ran his fingers along the edge, carefully exploring the whole way around. The sting of salt on his fingers was more like having that touch linger along torn skin than real pain.

Sock was tired of holding his shirt up. He yanked both shirt and vest up so he could pull them off over his head. There was a moment of wrestling with his clothes as his scarf and hat got in the way before he could drop them on the desk behind him. By the time he got free Jonathan was shaking with silent laughter.

At least he carried on without comment, teasing at Sock's skin and the fat and muscle layered close beneath it as he slid two fingers inside almost torturously slowly. His touch was all pleasant warmth and pressure. His face was wonderful to watch, a spectrum of expressions from wide-eyed amazement, or at least interest, to an uncomfortable disgust that pulled the corners of his open mouth down comically and had his tongue poking out against his teeth, and slowly back again.

When he looked up and noticed how intently Sock was watching him he froze, staring back as if momentarily petrified.

"Are you okay?" Sock asked.

"Yeah. You're kind of soft? I don't know. You're squishy but firm. It's kind of cool." Jonathan's cheeks flushed slightly pink as he tried to explain.

Sock grinned at the description. "Should I sit in your lap so you can keep going?"

"Whatever."

Jonathan didn't question why he would need Sock in his lap. He kept a hand on him, letting Sock slide from the edge of the desk and into his lap. Sock had to bite back a groan as he scooted forward and straddled Jonathan's thighs, which stayed warm and solid under him. Just being touched by someone living made him feel more real, more alive somehow. Jonathan's hands holding him around the waist seemed to radiate warmth far past the small area of skin they covered.

"It doesn't hurt, right?"

"No, I feel great!"

Jonathan nodded before letting his fingers trace a path of bloody fingerprints across Sock's stomach and slip back inside of the wound.

This time Sock closed his eyes to focus on the feeling of Jonathan touching him. He was intimately aware of the smooth, uneven arcs of Jonathan's fingernails and how slippery his fingertips were with blood. He could feel the pulse at the inside of Jonathan's thumb where it braced on the edge of his wound.

It felt like Jonathan was going to touch every inch of flesh open to him. He moved slowly, deliberately, stopping to press gently in some places or stroke at others. Sock hadn't realized Jonathan would be so thorough, or how good it would feel. He reached back to grab at the edge of the desk, starting to feel aroused just from having Jonathan's fingers inside. Jonathan's left hand shifted down to hold better his waist, which did not help his problem at all.

"What is this?" Jonathan wanted to know.

Grateful for the distraction, Sock craned his neck enough to peer inside as best he could. Jonathan was stroking something that dominated the upper half of the space inside his wound.

"That's my liver," Sock announced proudly. It was a beautiful organ, flushed a rich, dark red and glistening softly in the light. Jonathan kept running his fingers back and forth over it, almost petting it. He couldn't see a mark on it, even though he was sure he had stabbed himself deep enough to cut into it, and the wound opened deeper below it. It looked like his liver had healed itself.

"It's huge."

"Compared to what?" Sock laughed, because they weren't even seeing all of it.

"A chicken liver?" Jonathan suggested. He teased his finger along the vein of fat running between the two lobes before starting to trace out the lower edge. Sock was enjoying Jonathan's curious touches, but he couldn't help giving him a hard time when he got a little too curious.

"Did you just pinch my liver?"

"Sorry." Jonathan lifted his hand away, which was the opposite of what Sock wanted.

"It's fine! You can have some of it if you want. Just don't use it to feed the birds." Sock teased, watching Jonathan's mouth crumple up in horror.

"I am not going to cut bits out of you!"

"It's okay. I trust you."

"Sock, _no_."

Laughing, Sock slipped his arms around Jonathan's neck and leaned forward to bump their noses together. "I meant: I know you're not going to."

"Good." Jonathan was breathing hard, hands moving restlessly over Sock's sides. He didn't pull away from Sock, but his gaze darted around, refusing to meet Sock's eyes even though they were so close. "You trust me?"

"I'm letting you play around with my body, aren't I?"

"Quit making it weird!"

"What do you want me to do, then?"

Sock found his attention wandering to Jonathan's thin lips, which were set in a stubborn frown. He wanted to close the gap between them and kiss Jonathan on the mouth. He wondered if Jonathan would kiss him back.

"Sit back," Jonathan finally muttered. "I can't see with you this close."

Sock wanted to stay where he was, but he also wanted to enjoy Jonathan being in the mood to touch him. The latter quickly won, and he did as he was asked, shivering in anticipation.

It seemed Jonathan was becoming more confident, not just poking at what was easily accessible but pushing gently against the padding of fat and connective tissue to see what was hidden beneath. Jonathan's fingers angled up inside of him, pressing at layers of muscle that tensed automatically against his fingers until they slipped under, invading abused tissue with human warmth.

"What is this?" Jonathan wanted to know. "It's firm." He prodded gently, and Sock had never been so intimately aware of Jonathan's fingernails. A jolt went through his whole body, like pain with no bite to it. He pitched forward until his forehead hit Jonathan's shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Sock made himself sit up so Jonathan could continue. He leaned back against the desk, gripping the edge with one hand while the other inched forward to lay across Jonathan's wrist in encouragement. "That's cartilage," he decided, closing his eyes to better imagine the inside of his own chest. "It's connecting my ribs to my sternum. Move back towards the center," he urged, having to bite his lip briefly when Jonathan followed his instructions. "There. Now you should be touching bone."

Jonathan's hand was trembling inside of him, or maybe that was just him shaking in excitement. Jonathan was stroking at the underside of his sternum, meaning he had a finger hooked up inside of Sock's rib cage. He was so close to invading, to reaching the organs tucked safely inside.

"That's not what bone is supposed to feel like."

"Isn't it?" Sock was distracted by Jonathan's finger curiously fondling the bone. He could swear he felt fragile capillaries rip. A trickle of blood ran down Jonathan's finger, down the edge of his palm, to drip from his wrist to Sock's stomach.

"Sorry," Jonathan whispered, his eyes drawn to the slow but steady drip of blood onto Sock's stomach. He was frozen, breath coming out in unsteady pants, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It's okay." Sock reached up to stroke Jonathan's cheek. He wedged his thumb under Jonathan's chin, prompting him to look away from the blood until his breathing calmed.

It was kind of cute that he was getting worked up about a little thing like blood. Still, he was exploring an intimacy no one had ever wanted to share with Sock before, so Sock had to do his best to be a good guide.

"Are you thinking of bones that have been dead for a while? Ones you find all bleached and dried out? Because they feel different when they're still alive, all full of blood and marrow." He lay his hand on Jonathan's wrist again, encouraging him to keep exploring.

Jonathan huffed out a shaky laugh under his breath. "So you're saying your bones are alive?"

"Close enough." Sock couldn't help smiling. It was funny. It was like his body, or his spirit that retained the shape of his body, remembered what it felt like being alive. His blood still dripping sluggishly from the wound that would never close. He could still feel arousal, in fact he couldn't seem to banish it. He could even experience new sensations. No one had ever touched him the way Jonathan was now.

Now it almost felt like teasing, the way Jonathan explored just the tip of his bone. Sock clamped his knees tight around Jonathan's legs, struggling not to squirm as Jonathan's fingertip eased along the edge, outlining the shape so that he could feel where the bone rested in his chest, hidden under skin and muscle and pointing right at the edge of his wound.

"What is this?" Jonathan paused, running his finger back and forth on the lower edge.

"What?" Sock whined in his throat.

"There's a notch here. It's. . . you stabbed yourself. There's a mark because you stabbed yourself."

Sock almost laughed. He had learned something new about himself! It had hurt so much at the time he hadn't even noticed if the knife scraped bone.

Jonathan's hand was trembling when he pulled it out and stared down at it. Blood streaked his palm and wrist and stained the cuff of his sleeve. He made a gagging noise in the back of his throat, his breath huffing out more quickly until he was almost hyperventilating.

Sock grabbed for Jonathan's hands. When he couldn't make them stop shaking, he dropped them to cup Jonathan's face, forcing him to look up in an attempt to get his attention.

"It's okay. It's just blood," Sock whispered, smiling as Jonathan's eyes finally fixed on his. "It'll wash off. You're okay. Just breathe." He threaded his fingers into Jonathan's hair, rubbing fingertips into his scalp. He didn't understand why Jonathan was upset, but the visible distress brought out a very un-demonic urge in Sock to comfort and calm. He wanted Jonathan to enjoy playing with his spooky hole as much as he was enjoying Jonathan's touches.

"Why did you kill yourself?"

"That's not important." Sock kept stroking Jonathan's hair, trying to shush him.

Jonathan's arms crept around him, fingers walking over his skin and distracting him with the prick of nails and the sticky warmth of his own blood. Jonathan hunched forward, pressing his face into Sock's chest.

"Sock, why did you kill yourself?"

"I already told you."

"I don't understand it! You're so happy all the time! How could you hurt yourself like that!?"

The choice was already made, Sock reminded himself. It was too late to regret it. He still took a bit of comfort from rubbing his cheek against Jonathan's hair.

"Because I screwed up. I killed my parents. You can't fix something like that. You can't take it back. So killing myself was the only thing I could do." Sock could remember all too well sitting by his parents' graves, cold and tired and alone with every thought leading to his own death. He had hoped for a chance to see them again if he died, but of course the afterlife hadn't worked out that way.

"You killed. . ." Jonathan shook his head, slowly, as if unable to settle this information. "I thought you liked killing people."

"Yeah, but I'm a demon so it's my job now! When I killed my parents. . . I loved them, and I knew better, but I still couldn't control myself." It was less painful to think about now that he wasn't struggling with the idea that he would have to kill himself. "It doesn't matter if you don't understand. It's already over."

"But didn't you have reasons to live?"

"Jonathan, it's over." Sock tried to speak firmly, lifting his head so he could pet Jonathan's hair down again. "Think of it this way: I could've lived my whole life and never met you. And I'm glad I met you."

He expected some snide remark or joke about how Jonathan would be better off without him, but instead Jonathan suddenly tightened his grip into a hug. He pulled Sock into his chest until they were pressed flush together. Sock bit his lip against the noise trying to crawl up his throat. He followed through with the movement, rocking his hips forward against Jonathan.

"Are you hard?" Jonathan's arms loosened, letting Sock sit back enough so that at least they weren't pressed together.

"Just because you were poking around inside!"

"What is wrong with you?" Jonathan pressed himself back in his chair, putting his hands over his face. "What's wrong with me? This is sick. We're completely fucked up."

"There's nothing wrong with having a little fun learning anatomy," Sock teased. It hurt. It scared him, made him shake inside with nervous anticipation of rejection, to have Jonathan say that. He didn't want to be pushed away again.

Jonathan's laugh was thin, not the laugh he loved, but it was still a laugh. He looked at the hole in Sock's chest, tracing one shaking finger around it and outlining it with an uneven smear of blood. Sock tensed in Jonathan's lap because he didn't know how to react.

Jonathan lifted his face, looking Sock in the eyes again, and something happened in Sock's gut. A phantom ache filled up his chest like the memory of cold metal. An urge that said Jonathan was vulnerable right now, as he hadn't been before.

"Don't tell me you've never thought of killing yourself," Sock said.

It took a second too long for Jonathan to push Sock off of his lap and stand up.

"Of course I have, because you won't shut up about it. It's not like I'm going to do it."

He hurried out of his room and into the bathroom next door Sock floated through the wall after him, fast enough to see him stripping off his hoodie and shoving it in the sink to wash away the blood.

Sock was about to offer advice about how to get the blood out, but it washed away easily, not even lingering long enough to stain the water. Jonathan scrubbed at it anyway.

He finally shut the water off and squeezed his soaked hoodie, keeping his head down. He had to know Sock was there, though, because he said, "Life gets better after high school, right?"

The ache intensified and something inside of Sock's chest pulled. He wanted suddenly to pull back, and recognized what it was. Not anger at the things Jonathan had said, but a desperate love almost like the overwhelming urge to kill. He wanted to drag Jonathan down with him. He wanted Jonathan to die in his arms, to feel the last shudder of his heartbeat and take his soul. Jonathan would be his more surely than if he cut his chest open and squeezed that dying heart with his own two hands.

Jonathan threw his hoodie over the shower bar to drip and looked back at Sock, who dragged himself out of the paralysis born of that sudden was of desire.

"I don't know," Sock admitted. "I didn't get to finish highschool." He looked into Jonathan's eyes, now so wide open that he looked like a frightened animal. Sock took a deep breath and said, "You should find out. For both of us."

The ache inside of Sock relaxed, and he wanted to collapse. He could feel he had done the wrong thing, yet at the same time it seemed like the right thing. Jonathan relaxed, his eyelids dropping half closed again with a near-invisible smile.

"You're a mess. Come here."

Sock hesitated before floating closer. Jonathan wet a paper towel and wiped away the blood his hands had tracked across Sock's stomach and around his side to his back. Again it seemed to evaporate with the touch of cold water.

"Are you okay?"

Sock had never realized before that Jonathan was such a gentle person, not wanting to cause damage even when it was okay. "I feel wonderful!" he enthused. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

For a moment Jonathan held his hands, slightly damp and clean, and Sock had a feeling Jonathan was trying to make sure he was really okay, just as much as he was checking Jonathan all over for signs that he was still upset. Even though his arousal had faded under the sudden stress of what he assumed were demon instincts, Sock was on the verge of suggesting that he needed a hug, and if Jonathan wanted to touch him all over he would be happy to encourage that.

"Put your shirt back on already," Jonathan finally said, dropping Sock's hands.

There was no time limit, right? Sock followed after Jonathan rather than flying back through the wall. He could stay with Jonathan for a little while if the time wasn't right, couldn't he? Sock drifted close, greedy for the warmth that radiated off of Jonathan's body, even when his arm went right through Jonathan's.

"I think you just like showing that thing off."

"Because it's cool! You'd do the same if you had one, right?" Sock argued, though he did move to pick up his shirt from Jonathan's desk.

"Ugh, no way. Especially not if you wanted to go poking at it."

Sock really liked that idea. He wanted to go poking around inside Jonathan, even if he had to wait for him to be dead first. Until that happened, he had a lot of other things to enjoy.

"Next time, you should get a scalpel."

"That's disgusting."

"We could play doctor! It would be fun!"

"That's your idea of fun?"

"As long as it's with you." Sock didn't even care what he was admitting, giddy as the urge to destroy Jonathan faded into the background. He was aware there was a bond between them, something more intimate than he had ever had, than he ever could have had, when he was alive. He wouldn't let Jonathan die before they had explored it together.


End file.
